


A Last First Date

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Biracial Couple, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Dark Humor, Drug Use, Drugs, Few Spoilers, Hate Sex, Heavy Petting, M/M, Male Slash, Recreational Drug Use, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Slight Non-Canon, Smut, Some Plot, Too many F-Words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three men on a job, little deviates from their line of work other than sex & Trevor-related craziness.</p><p>*rated for future chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE

Franklin now saw that Trevor was not always violent, the crazy old fuck also had an insanely shit-covered sticky sweet side, like a candied bullet clenched in a blood-stained fist, of course everyone in their crew understood not to push the ‘rural Canadian (American)’ too far either with simple jokes or picking the wrong words to observe him with. But Franklin liked having the fucker around non-business related affairs, he found himself being psychoanalyzed and at the same time having a few invitations passed his way by the bat-shit uncle he never had growing up as a kid, and was just then vaguely realizing how close he was to calling the man ‘Uncle Trevor’, the thought made him shudder and gag just the slightest of Maybe seeing his own feminist-sex obsessive aunt doing pelvic exercises to ‘be eighteen on the inside’. He, on the other hand, was having a good time just sitting in the booth right next to Trevor while he took a few numbers, leisurely nursing a Pißwasser and bottle of Bleu T’rd in case Trevor decided to pull out his dick instead of dollar bills. Maybe it was the mixture of lighting in the red room behind the heavy curtains and movement of Infernus’ body, maybe it was the drink and tiny bit of hash he smoked earlier outside the Vanilla Unicorn, or else it was the large hand planted firmly on his right leg, half between his thigh and knee, and the other hand sporting the ‘FUCK’ tattoo on Infernus’ hip; whichever it was, Franklin was pleasantly careless and enjoying the moment in the most platonic way. In all his weeks spending time with Michael’s old friend, possibly because Trevor’s LifeInvader motto was ‘any hole’s a goal’, Franklin was at first defensive of Trevor touching him or making unnecessary sexual innuendos, playful double-sided conversations and gestures, attempts at toppling Franklin’s statue of limitations. 

Suddenly after some of the most shitty and life-affirming jobs they had done in their weird little nuclear family, Franklin knew he could trust Trevor, but the old late-thirty-something Canadian was also a force to be reckoned with once hearing the word ‘No’, he had to hand it to Trevor though, doing a small public service by showing lonely cougars and rednecks a good time by breaking in their walls until they could taste cum on their tonsils. The ‘YOU’ on Trevor’s knuckles patted along his thigh, resting on his belt buckle, deciding whether to undo the kid’s pants or stick his fingers up Infernus’ pussy, maybe working her up to the elbow if he could get her alone, but Franklin took the rest of his Pißwasser and a few sips of Bleu T’rd while his eyes glazed over, his ears shutting out the one of the few songs allowed to play in the gentlemen’s club and sinking all too happily into the drink providing the sparkly color to Trevor’s shaved head and zipper on the black and gray leather jacket. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the air around Infernus moved back and fourth, creating something close to invisible waves of nausea washing around Franklin’s body, a sour aftertaste definitely Not alcoholic feeling like a stab at the back of his tongue pulled him into some kind of sense, he glanced into the blurry brown bottleneck, staring hard into the foam, he then reached into the small puddle of Bleu T’rd lingering in the glass tumbler. 

At the very bottom grinding against the tip of his forefinger was a dusting of powdery grains slowly dissolving into a bubbly mixture of fizzing French wine, and unlike Trevor, Franklin was not able to snort or drink his way sober, so he just instead enjoyed the disco biscuit-colored lights, thrumming in and out with his breath, like he was at the bottom of the ocean on the clearest Los Santos day when the sun hung high and hot over the bay. Sunlight shining through the waves and touching him with a wet warmth, it felt just exactly like the tongue on his ear, he groaned sleepily, half grumpily for not being able to be left alone to enjoy the high sweeping against his skin, the hard hand rubbing his shoulder and the tongue laving the inner crevices of his ear, the teeth scraping gently on his skin shook jolts straight to his dick. Franklin’s hands automatically went to the other’s groin expecting to stick his fingers into a wet pussy, instead squeezing a denim-covered lump throbbing against his navel, he pulled back, blinking hard into the haze, coming face to face with the scarred face and dirtiest smile to ever cut an equally dirty mouth in half. Anger outweighed desperation, his hands dropped to his side, a cool tickling-sensation licking up his spine and cracking a sudden assault of candy-like hues contrasting as if he was inside a kaleidoscope disco ball UFO, he was suddenly too weak to push off the body from his. 

“CBL…CBL…CBL…fuck me-,” his eyes opened hardly a slit, he groaned, “What the fuck, T…” 

“Molly, Molly, Molly - Good gosh jeeze oh Golly. Ain’t the bitch ever so convenient?” Trevor answered, pulling up Franklin’s shirt from beneath the hoodie and rubbing the firm muscles quivering half in fear, partly in the concentrated drug zooming through the kid’s veins. 

“What the fuck’d you give me…” Franklin breathed outwards, catching Trevor’s dark eyes on him for only a moment before making some mad-type of eccentric glare, the kind tweekers make when being interrogated by their parole officers. 

“The shit that gets the party started and keeps the party going,” Trevor breathed against his right ear as Infernus slinked away almost knowingly and not in the least offended that she could not provide the Male side of services, she closed the curtains behind herself and whispered to the bouncer ‘Trevor’s not done with the latest roller’. 

“Michael was right…” Franklin felt weightless in the muscles but heavy in the arteries as the drug again pushed onward and made him feel like a hot air balloon floating on a clear sunrise, but then there was something he remembered categorizing Trevor and meeting certain expectations on the Millennial-Criteria, a word Trevor hated, “…you are a fuckin’ hipster.” 

“How many times do I gotta tell you silly boys-” Trevor was now leaning in Franklin’s face, arms over either side of him and one finger poking his nose in tandem and his rough Canadian voice high and half squeaky, “-it’s not legal if there’s No Pen-etra-tion. Nothing as illegal as I prefer.” 

“Motherfucker, everyone knows better than to gangbang me while I’m not obligated to be a bitch for fuckin’ popo’s,” Franklin pulled away slightly only to fall into the plush armrest, he rathered to close his eyes and keep them closed, but sitting drugged and tapped out next to Trevor most likely meant a big flashing ‘Go’ in the chaotic mind of TP Inc’s boss, “You use it a lot as much as we all fuckin do by standard.” 

“At least I make good on every inserted ‘fuck’ instead of throwing around the damned intensifier and not cheating out anyone listening,” he felt the breath on his face, a hand slide up on his chest, and he again refocused his glare on Trevor whom was propped comfortably on his shoulder, that same jack-o-lantern smile appeared as the hazel eyes lit up like two separate forest fires, or the headlights of an oncoming hearse, “Spare a condom?” 

“Man, do I look like a fuckin 24/7 to you, dog?” Franklin reassured himself as he let out a laugh, finding that the groping he had just endured was only Trevor’s way of being ‘friendly’ and just a touch too familiar with the way around another man’s body, he handed his crazier counterpart a warm roll of lubed ‘magnums’ screaming an awkward ‘go Big or go home!’, Trevor left him with a cold spot in a flash as he sat looking upward still at Trevor , “T, I’ll be a’ight. I can get back to Rockford Hills after this shit you drugged me with wears off.” 

“If I were cooking my own speed, I’d be a pal and share,” Trevor made a show of strutting (Trevor never ‘walks’, Franklin thought) to the nearest wall still in his line of vision and leaning up against the frame to enjoy a long drag of Redwood, flicking the butt, Franklin blinked as he made out the second longest speech he had ever heard from his workmate, “Not dose up a lightweight for a quick reaming. Date rape isn’t my style, but it is an unfortunate forte I am well-versed in. You still have much to learn of your daddy Phillips, my dearest buddy. Choose the smart drug, son.” 

“For all my mamma doped, man, you Could be,” Franklin sunk into the cushions and blurted out more than he ever let on to either Michael or Trevor. 

“I take that as a compliment for givin you those devilish good looks, kid,” Trevor with his quick slithery-sweet-double-edged words only earned him a half-hearted smile from his younger counterpart. 

“Man, fuck off,” Franklin was wasted, he knew it, they both did, he blearily said before dropping off to 90’s Gangsta Dreamland where all big homies go when they lived their last twenty six years either behind bars or rolling their last drive by a fallen saint, “Hey, T. Thanks, I guess. Remind me to pay you back, dude.” 

“I don’t need any prerequisites for promising me things I might never have,” Trevor nodded in a similar fashion to the ‘whatever/never mind’-mood all millennial brats had the blissful arrogance to have; after watching Franklin begin to softly snore, Trevor then turned to a professional he hired back from Liberty City, “Keep an eye on him, Dessie.” 

“Sure thing, boss,” Dessie answered, then stating before Trevor exited the private rooms, “He’ll be put in the office.” 

“Y’know what, Dessie: good idea,” Trevor okayed as he disappeared behind the red curtain to the back lots where he kept his Imponte Phoenix cruiser for a ride and a go at his hidden stash of shake-’n-bake, “There’s nothing better than sex and chivalry to alleviate sugar tits’ backstabbing.”


	2. Chapter 2

The phone was ringing, Franklin pulled it out from his pocket and flipped it open without checking the ID as he usually does, (because Lester hangs up after the first ring, thusly passing up a job most likely worth ten grand at best) then came that husky Canadian drawl washed through years of American citizenship and two-dozen permanently baked meth-smokers of Sandy Shores, “Hey, kid, I need some company to the recreational nirvana that Los Santos has to offer, ya interested in raising some hell together?” 

Franklin nearly fell off his lawn chair, his sunglasses popping off his forehead as he rose quickly unto his feet, he was expecting something more like a spam-caller or the cab company needing their boss to do a professional run, he answered without thinking, “Sure, why not, T.” 

“I’m coming to You,” Trevor answered, Franklin swore he could smell his workmate from across the city where he heard the unmistakable sound of a collision and Trevor yelling ‘I hope that just broke your fucking neck’, then adding before again there was a voice on a bullhorn instructing ‘Stop the car, Trevor’, “And put on something nice.” 

He padded to his closet, and pulled out his indigo-washed jeans, a pair of workboots (judging by the company, they were probably going to need something hardier than basketball shoes or skate shoes), his white flannel (they spent most of their hangouts indoors, how cold could it be?) and his Ammu-Nation zip-up jacket (‘Uncle’ Trevor’s gift-souvenir from Sandy Shores). Franklin changed out of his college sweats and stepped into his evening wear, he went up the stairs to the door. Trevor busted right through the door just as he put his hand on the knob, the smell of dead flesh and fresh blood knocking him senseless, he hauled Trevor over to the sitting room, but just as easily he was turned around with an arm around his shoulders as a guide and led to the bullet-hole riddled pickup truck. They dispersed respectively driver and shooter like it was second nature, Franklin took the wheel while Trevor pulled out his automatic pistol, unscrewing the silencer as he popped in the extended clip, he aimed at a police cruiser already wheeling their way downhill. 

“Fuck, man!” Franklin shouted, knocking the pistol out of Trevor’s trigger hairs, the bullet tearing out a side of concrete, the last thing He wanted was to get the police’s attention in the form of loaded Bison vans and choppers sporting a team of snipers apiece. 

Trevor shot him a glare, meth-stained teeth grinding as he snarled, “Y’want ‘em off our tail or you want ‘em ruining my date?” 

“Date?!” Franklin nearly squeaked in his surprise, he cranked the first gear and slammed the gas pedal, “Man, you’re doped!” 

Focused on the oncoming wave of police cars, Trevor hung himself nearly out of his rolled-down window, left arm wrapped securely on the roll cage, limbs aching and burned from a handful of bullets he collected in his body earlier, he steadied himself, the cleared barrel yanking side to side as the squad cars wove on the single lane of Rockford Hills, one Vapid cruiser sped up from the crowded jumble, their own driver and partner squeezing out rounds at the pair. Trevor ducked back in only until he knew the LSPD were reloading or in a state of pumping their shotguns, he did a favor for his friend and aimed lower than the windshield, taking his chance he shot a rapid pulse of bullets into the cruisers’ engines, and if the police took action more than the hint, he dropped two slugs to their tires until they were spinning out half speed without their treads, one squeezed past the pileup and pursued without missing a beat. 

The instantaneous ring of slug-on-metal once, several more hitting pavement, Trevor shot out the first front tire, sending the cruiser spinning on it’s bare rim, scratching up sparks while the still-rubber side steered the entire car straight into the power pole, Trevor whooped, “Did the widdle po-po bend his badge?” 

Franklin shouted over the whining sirens approaching their direction from the west and a police truck from further east about a quarter mile, “Where to, your highness?” 

“Chiliad Park!” Trevor answered, just as they were about to relax and avoid any more police for the rest of the trip, one turned the corner, their sirens blared as the pickup hissed it’s turbo into the fourth gear, he turned in his seat to get to work but Franklin’s hand on his thigh kept him planted, even then his temper could not be cooled, he roared out the window to the squad car tailing them past the Hills residential area, “Ohh, Lord! They’re like hemorrhoids; an annoyingly itchy pain-in-the-ass! Is minimum wage Really that to-die-for, bacon-bits!” 

Franklin’s gut clenched, he thought by now that he would be used to the feel of maneuvering through a road full of hazards (his passenger the worse one) he clipped the bumper veering through oncoming traffic, the wheel became slippery in his hand, but the fear (of being next to Trevor) and high from blood pumping through his fingers kept his foot flat on the pedal. There was no science of driving, just an engine and wheels, he turned through the straightaway nearly colliding hood-first into a Karin eco-car, the driver only gave them the finger, Trevor in turn pulled out a used diaper from beneath the seat and threw it straight into the open window. All the while the one single car became four in tow, a female voice came out of the bullhorn at first shouting ‘Freeze, numb-nuts!’ then assumingly to the awe-stricken drivers parked like up-turned dominoes on the road ‘Remain calm and invest in Gruppe Sechs!’ Sure enough, everyone on the block pulled out their smart phones and began moving their college savings into the menopausal stock market, either way the three of them regularly took those very bills from the private security trucks. Win-win. 

“Su-eee! Su-eee! This is just getting boring!” Trevor threw his empty Pißwasser bottles backwards all the while Franklin edging them nearer to the highway, vehicles whizzing in and out of Los Santos, he hooted almost happily and too giddily, “Go back to the academy, you fucking waste of global warming, shit-brained, excuse of authority airs - feed yourselves to a shark!” 

“Chill, T!” Franklin said, unconsciously squeezing Trevor’s thigh before he threw the pickup back into second gear to make up for the lag time, the truck blew past Majestic Studios as two squad cars caught up and were neck and neck, one veering hard against the tire to collapse the truck’s axel and ball bearing, the other on Franklin’s left fought to gain ground and speed in order to box them in. 

“You make me sick!” Trevor pulled out his bat from the back seat and shattered the cruiser’s windshield, blinding the driver and freeing up space on their right, Franklin took the cue made a sharp turn for the curb as the squad car just then made it’s move, but instead rammed full speed into the back bumper of an SUV, rendering it’s own mobility useless and unable to regain speed, “Suck my boy, LSPD! Suck ‘em real Good!” 

Evening rush-hour picked up, crippling the LSPD’s chances of ever filtering the pickup out from workers returning to their mistresses or college students returning to their dorms to update, re-update and reorganize their LifeInvader pages. Police sirens faded at a crowded intersection, the heat of adrenaline cooled until the pure high of endorphins reigned supreme, Trevor patted Franklin’s back when the road expanded and the traffic thinned to the exact time of seven o’clock near the city’s exit, he could never be more proud of his protégé as he was right then, watching the kid in the thick and handling each new challenge with hands ready. 

“We lost them. Damn!” Franklin managed to choke out a dry laugh, he realized then he was breathing so quick and heavy that his throat wheezed dryly, he was unfazed but losing his cool for even a fraction of a second almost cost them a night in the adult detention center, he was happier to not visit after his last when he was sixteen, “Damn! We almost did time for fuckin pennies!” 

“You did great, kid, better than Mike anyway,” Trevor said, he took his medical pack from the dashboard and started patching himself back up, he sat straight up and talked evenly in no time, “F, you look shot. I’ll drive us the rest of the way and you get some sleep.” 

Franklin’s hands stayed glued to the steering wheel, his foot still on the gas and not letting up, he felt with the rush back there that he would Never need to sleep again, he brushed off the advice, “Nah, man, I’m okay-” 

“That wasn’t a question, baby cakes,” Trevor sternly stated, already set for taking the rest of the drive, “C’mon, it’s another three hour’s drive and we burned an hour and a half jerking around with those cock-snots. The least I can let you do is cool down from all that circular cock-snapping tournament we were engaged in.” 

Franklin yawned, catching himself in the middle of it, he nodded to Trevor as he pulled the pickup to the highway curb, he crawled over to the passenger’s seat while Trevor got out and went around to the driver’s seat, Franklin buckled himself in moreover for comfort than safety, he whispered before slumping into the beige leather seats, “I owe you one, T.” 

“Sleep tight, baby G,” Trevor said to no one, he was all smiles and even went as far as sticking to the fifth gear while letting his left hand hang over the door and feel the damp sea air waft through the trees on Chiliad’s border. 

Traffic grew sluggish and sparse until only a dozen cars were going one way north and a handful were drawing themselves into Chumash, gulls cawed, hawks called and elk whistled to one another, they were half an hour shy of reaching their destination. Trevor pulled off to the right and followed the dirt road down near the river, he reached Cletus’ clearing just as a telltale crack against the sky signaled the beginning of heavy rain, clouds crowded in and washed down with the smog. Parking the truck near the RV, Trevor unpacked a tarp and spread it over the inside from windshield to truckbed, he tied the ends down into the tires, he opened the truck door and rearranged Franklin until he lay across the seat. He spread a blanket over his sleeping colleague, and crawled into the truckbed for his own chance at a nap. It was tough sleeping without either being high or drunk or sex-satisfied, Trevor spread himself over the cold bed, his eyes unable to drop closed and his mind too full to go blank, he stared hard into the peeling metal frame separating him from Franklin, wishing for his mother to appear one more time in his life and leave him at peace to be his sociopathic-(gay)-self. 

Their mothers were gone, Franklin and Trevor had that in common along with their lifestyle choices. There were very few things which held them three to the ‘actual’ world of Los Santos: women, drugs, business, money, medical bills and outstanding warrants for their arrests; whereas adrenaline, trust and sex were their only real vices which kept them from pissing everything away. Michael had his family, Franklin and Trevor had Chop and Lamar, but all they really had in the end was each other because no one else could be brought up as fucked in the head, the confidence they had in each other that none would rat out the other without first turning themselves in and the third way (and least likely) was either of them fighting amongst each other again since Trevor formally forgave Michael, nothing about their shared faith was fake and lavish as Vinewood. Franklin was a real testament of how the lowest rise in a place built on human parody and intricate movie sets, Trevor was unquestionable proof of the most rotten and caring of souls washing itself in gold, and as much as Trevor might sometimes state - Michael was more genuine than any of Amanda’s missing and enhanced body parts. 

Los Santos’ damp cool was better than North Yankton’s dry bone-nibbling cold, Trevor hated the people of the island-state but stayed for the men (Franklin and Michael) and godchildren (Tracy and Jimmy) in his life, they were like a will-sapping habit just waiting to be seen, shot, skinned, dried, sun-bleached…

Trevor had a sudden idea other than to outright molest Franklin, he remembered having a spare bulletproof vest and an ATV parked next to the RV, and just half an hour away on a full tank was the Lost MC’s chapter branch, he slid himself out from under the tarp and rolled the ATV up the hill lest he wake Franklin, he sneered to himself, “Here biker, biker, biker…Uncle Trevor’s hungry.” 

\---

“Sit the fuck still, this’ll only hurt-” Trevor had a tattooed biker bent over his Hexus, the guy’s arms tied to the high bars and his rain-slick cock rammed hard into the biker’s ass, “-for a sec!” 

The man squirmed on his Hexus chopper, unwilling to relax or make the sex (on Trevor’s part) any easier, Trevor liked the roughness, feeling the loose ass comfortably pulling him forward and sucking him in as his cock sunk deep, slapping his balls against the bony section of ass, he was bored, horny and all sorts of unsettled, “-And this is why men with more meat are worth waiting for-” 

“Taking too much lead pipe up the glory-hole, eh?” the scrawny hipbones were hardly a prelude to an ass, the biker had probably lost all that cushion on the road between Pitcher’s and Cock-a-Doo! He worked himself into the rigid body, but only got so far as pumping into what he knew was the pelvis, a thin cover of healed gore cushioning his cockhead against internal bones, he was suddenly having a half-jolly time both yanking on the biker’s gagged neck and gripping the belt he looped around the tied man’s stomach, “Believe me, this is hurting Me more than you.” 

Climax hardly came fast enough for him to pull out and choke on his own disgust as he hauled himself off the bike, he slapped the boney ass as he turned around to the still-idling ATV parked southward to Franklin, “Good times, leather and sunshine. Remember uncle T’s birthday now.” 

Seating himself on the foam and plastic cushion, he lit himself a bowl, inhaling deep and smelling the sour smoke filling up his throat and lighting his brain with neon fog, his hands shaking and teeth kissed by a sweet aftertaste, high enough he was shouting at the tied biker panicked and wet at his side, “Smoke urinal cake, Johnny K!” 

“Here! On the house!” he threw the hot pipe and his stash at the biker, the powdery white contents heating and giving off a stench close to explosive, he revved south to the muffled screams behind, leaving a corpse ready to cook in the Lost MC’s patch, “Dead fucking furtilizer!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was more gorey & awful, so it's been edited for length & nasty bits still left over from...well


	3. Chapter 3

Franklin opened his eyes, heavy-lidded and just in the slightest moist from the cool light filtering in from his eyelashes, the colored beam teasing him awake was cheerfully bright but not at all unwelcome, he uncurled himself from the usual fetal-position he slept in and stretched out luxuriously on the tough leather cushions squeaking with his every movement. He propped his arm up under his head and finally blinked, he slept long and restfully, better than the usual six hours in the lonely bed of his apartment, the empty space on his mattress bothered him, yet not enough that he could commit himself to a single girl he had dated from ULSA, at the same time he found himself more invested in the jobs Michael had worked out for Trevor and himself to take on. 

The life of a three-bit had it’s upsides he though being that there were no unforeseen breakups or dramatic make-ups; Franklin shifted in his warm spot as his eyes followed the center of the bright orange tarp flapping rhythmically in the ocean breeze blowing from the west or the truck’s hood, he sat up and opened the door, he slid out and peeled the blanket off as he stood on the slightly muddy ground of Cletus’ clearing. Things felt a little strange without the constant blare of sirens or honking of horns, all the same he was relieved of the silence which came with waking up in a strange truck in an equally strange place, it felt like high school all over again he thought, he pulled out his phone and logged onto the internet and ordered a few abstract nature-themed paintings for his condo.

“Whoo! Bull’s eye!” Franklin started from the echoing gunshot ringing still near a tree line up on a swell of grassy hills, and another at the next hill a minute later after straining his ears and fighting to calm himself, behind the cheerily colorful landscape enclosed in tall pines came another thunder-crack-like bang and a muffled growl, “Tagged right in the fuckin ticker!”

Franklin thought for sure he was stuck in a bad metaphysical allegorical psychologically-taxing thriller which’s story revolves around a group of stranded all-male hikers whom had the worst luck walking around aimlessly through Blaine County while complaining about their cramping Toe Shoes, and unbeknownst to them they had a swarm of horny All-Male hillbillies shuffling after like a horde of ass-starved scavengers - the nastiest bits came in the form of an army of cute falsetto-trained squirrels chirping their highest notes of ‘Rape! Rape! Rape! ‘Til your ass is bent out of shape!’ every time a scene of the hillbillies and the hikers were in the same frame. Imaging the ending of the film to match their own situation where they would be given a bowl of meth and directions to the nearest town, Franklin knew by guilty association to Trevor that he was already at risk of being the bitch of the film and that if he was ever caught out of town without a shred of street-smarts - Trevor would never let him go and maybe turn him into shark bait. 

He mentally punched himself in the face for thinking that Trevor of all people would do such evil things to him, yet there hidden behind his loyalty was a needle-pricking of suspicion whispering ‘what If, Franklin?’ Either the hillbillies had already taken Trevor or killed him while Franklin slept, he again cursed himself for not having his homie’s back in their time of need, he quietly checked for his automatic pistol holstered near his left pocket and quietly took the warmed metal nestled near his left hipbone into hand, his boots padded softly on the grass and wet sand up on the hill. He followed the rustling sound of shuffling boots shifting weight from one foot to the other, the rasp of cloth on moving limbs, Franklin pushed himself up against a tree, his hands unsteady and already stiff from adrenaline, before he could jump out from cover and fire off a few clips, he breathed in deep and recognized the scent.

“Thought you could fool old Uncle Trevor, eh?” Trevor rasped to himself, he spotted a moving patch four yards away swaying on a tree, he shouted as he pulled the trigger on his rifle, “Wrong!”

“Holy fuck, T!” Franklin fell backwards unto the gravelly hillside, his left hand gripping his right shoulder at the knot of muscle where blood oozed thick and hotly, the singed skin already giving off a burned smell from the lodged bullet, he huffed as Trevor sidled up beside his wounded body, “Have you lost your fuckin head, dude! Warn a man before you point that thing! Shit!”

“I wish I could skin you, stuff you and mount you, kid,” Trevor rasped, he slipped the rifle over his shoulder and helped Franklin to his feet, he pulled aside the black jacket already saturated with congealed blood pumping against his finger as he gently brushed off dust and pine needles, moreover impressed with Franklin’s toughness, he motioned to the wound with the rifle's barrel-tip and shouted enthusiastically, “Damn, just another centimeter to the left and - Bam!”

Franklin shakily accepted the arm which went under his right shoulder and wrapped carefully around his back, supporting a majority of his weight as they slowly descended the hill to the north of Cletus’s clearing, Trevor’s voice made him shiver from some other unnamed emotion than fear or revulsion, because knowing Trevor only meant that he was given a further insight of the Canadian-american’s world which was both imperfect and blunt, “Who knows what I would’ve done with your body then.” 

“Well, I’m glad your expert marksmanship was fuckin flawless, Uncle T,” Franklin groaned when his weight shifted as did his broken flesh, he felt increasingly lightheaded by the minute, the heat spilling into his clothes and throbbing against his bullet wound, he was guided into the RV soon after reaching the bottom, his body slumped on a seat with its cushions rotted away and flaking, he glanced at a cut on the side of Trevor’s left forearm, “Shit. You a’ight, man?” 

“You’re the one closer to the ER and you’re worried about Me?” Trevor’s hazel eyes lit up once catching Franklin in a stare-down match, his gravelly voice lowering and softening as he pulled a medical pack from a chest next to the cooler near the back of the RV. 

“Yeah? So? Who shouldn’t be?” Franklin glanced away first, he unzipped his jacket and held his left palm against the wound to stifle the bleeding, “This ain’t the ‘hood or the trailer park. We surrounded by some Real predators, dude, not just a bunch of rapist hillbillies.”

“My god, you’re so naïve it’s fucking adorable, kid,” Trevor chuckled akin to the sound of rocks grinding against glass, he dumped out the kit’s contents on the floor and searched for a few useful instruments, he understood Franklin did not say much if he was not asked a question instead of springing on subjects as he himself usually did out of habit, he prodded and continued to lay out the implements neatly on the aluminum flooring, “Silence usually means my victims are six-feet deep and permanently asleep. Spill, kiddo.” 

“Nothin, just a little relieved, I guess,” Franklin shrugged, he was a little more coherent once he calmed down from the shock, he remembered his thoughts the morning a half-hour ago and decided he was given enough incentive, he said, “I see how you get when you’re alone, man, you make those popos Work for their money instead of milking their hours of taxpayer money or cartel cash. This is maybe the first time I don’t feel like you’ve done anything the pigs wouldn’t give a fuck about.” 

“I don’t see you working a nine-to-five job, Frankie-boy,” Trevor’s smile became a tight line set against his teeth, he saw Michael’s influential sarcasm on his prodigy whom was still like a toddler absorbing all knowledge, soaking both bullshit and fuckups like an innocent little sponge, he sat back on his hunches looking up at Franklin whom was staring at the floor like a cop focusing on a speeding driver, “Unemployment’s tough as a motherfuck these days. Especially with the economy in the tank and ingredient sales pulling the plug.”

“T, what I meant to say was it’s nice,” Franklin winced as his shoulder was doused in iodine, his skin pulled apart and a pair of tweezers’ pincers inserted, he gasped through his grit teeth and endured the messy prodding near his collarbone, “It’s good we just kickin it like we should instead of poppin some Ballas, or Triads or whatever the fuck kind of mess we got ourselves into This week. Bein out here in the sticks is – well, it’s relaxing. Not so Hard, man-!”

“We’re bonding, bro!” Trevor excitedly sat back on his knees, the gleam in his eyes again making Franklin in the slightest uncomfortable occupying the same bit of space which was the back of the RV, his hands instantly dropped the bloodied bullet pulled from the wound, he produced a pinkie-nail sized crystal from his pocket and held it out to his colleague, “All that’s left is sharing a bowl of Chef and my own pièce de résistance. Care for a puff?”

“Nah, it’s cool, dog,” Franklin answered groggily, his vision seemed to melt like a burning slideshow as he slowly blinked face to face with a blurry white ball held in Trevor’s pale tear-fuzzy hand, and a slight pressure inside the opening, he vaguely felt himself being pushed backwards into the seat at the same time while Trevor shoved the meth crystal into his wound, he gasped groggily, “What the fuck is That?”

“For starters: You’re lucky I grazed you, but still the bullet entered about two centimeters without exiting, maybe from the defective bullet or the change in wind and humidity, most of the momentum was taken by the tree you were standing next to – in turn missing your major veins. Bottoms up, muchacho,” Trevor explained unabashedly, he planted his lips on the wound, his tongue snaking into the broken flesh and prodding with the sensitive tip for signs of shattered bone or flecks of lead he missed upon searching previously, before even tasting the slightly-cooked savory hint of flesh, he was sorely addicted and broke his set-in-stone dependence on meth, he was sure that if he forgot that Franklin was alive or wounded that he would not stop sucking from the sopped injury gradually tapering in blood as it clotted, he mumbled against Franklin’s shoulder, “And you’re bleeding like a busted cherry.” 

Franklin held back the dry heave his stomach worked up, he knew the best intentions were meant for him by his colleague, but even he understood the sensation of a slow strength-melting numbness spreading across his shoulder meant that his body was slowly depleting of blood, he weakly pushed at Trevor’s shoulders in order to avoid being sucked for all he was worth, “Aw, shit, man, that’s gross!” 

“I know! And we aught to not waste that blood or you’ll dry right up,” Trevor mumbled against the pierced flesh, the torn fibers brushing soothingly against his tongue as if to egg him on, the dark skin sweating against his lips and enticing him with the half-musky half-unisexual Magma D’or Le Chien body wash and aftershave, he was so dizzy with sensation that he knew he would lose his mind if he let Franklin go and heal the puncture.

On one hand, he did not want Franklin to die, on the other, he fought against his inner workings which screamed for him to bite down and gorge himself until his hunger was satisfied, because nothing else at this point would satisfy him or pass as edible, his teeth ached and his head pounded from the tension headache working itself through his rigid spine up his tightly-wound neck and through his firmly-clenched eyelids. Franklin bit into his own lips, the thick flesh screaming it’s own dull pain which kept him from outright passing any sound, he felt Trevor's tongue wriggling around the hole in his right shoulder, lapping around the broken skin with warm saliva soothing the slightly-numb wound and singed nerves, vaguely, he pushed himself forward, into Trevor's hold, he should have kicked the fucker off and stomped him into the RV’s floor, but he found himself actually in the slightest – in the Tiniest, in the least bit ‘liking’ the harsh embrace Trevor had him pinned within. 

The constant motion of Trevor’s tongue felt wet, sloppy, eager to please and maybe the beginnings of the best head he could have ever been given, save for the fact that Trevor was nowhere near his dick, his eyes closed at the sensation of the other’s hands clawing with blunt nails at his shoulders and arms, as if He would disappear if he was not being held so tightly. The thought of slowly being eaten by someone whom ‘loved’ him and made sure to say it every time they were inebriated slightly calmed Franklin, he found a tiny comfort realizing that he craved to be wanted even if the order was a little backwards and caused him the small price of pain, he could die with the fact that it was in the arms of a guy that cherished him more than he ever had the guts to say it back. With fried nerves and a weak body, Franklin watched the ceiling of the RV, his empty stomach reacting to the queasy swirls stained on the upholstery, the smell of sweaty musk, singed hair, cheesy burned paper and the half-rancid rank of day-old meat – but then again, it might have been due to Trevor’s second week without showering – otherwise, Franklin could smell himself rotting, his body tucking itself in before having his bones boiled into a stew and only one thought came to mind: 

“It’s okay, T,” he breathed out, holding his colleague close against himself, mumbling just below a whisper that Trevor’s head popped up, “It’s a’ight.” 

Trevor leaned up, taking in the hazy dazed look his younger colleague made and thought to himself that he had never seen anyone as drop-dead-gorgeous as his friend at that very moment – he wiped off the dribble and thick mucus-like spit with the back of his hand, he swallowed the remaining meth and gunpowder-flavored blood as he debated with himself whether to eat or fuck Franklin, he paused – fuck him. 

“That’s the last fuckin time I get my ass shot and have you patch me up, you fucking parasitical smack-head!” Franklin croaked, planting both feet on Trevor’s chest and kicking his colleague unto the filthy oil-encrusted floor, against the leer of his colleague he slapped on a gauze pad and hissed through his sore gums, “Dude, relax. You didn’t ensure me for your fridge just yet. Fuck, I’m hungry.” 

“Fine!” Trevor growled, throwing up his arms before Franklin and leering over his shoulder as he kicked open the RV door, clearly pissed that he could not eat his colleague after all, he hopped unto the Bodhi with his iFruit phone in hand, “I’ll find us some all-natural pure-carcinogenic non-processed prime-cock…Meat!” 

“T?” Franklin said, he caught Trevor’s hazel eyes as he shakily leaned down and took a seat at the RV’s doorway, he chuckled wholeheartedly, “Thanks, man. Even if you nearly fuckin killed me.” 

“Any time, kiddo,” Trevor shrugged noncommittally even while his full stomach and beer-liver did backflips inside his body, he then asked while passing Franklin a predatory grin, “How d’ya feel about sushi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaaaaay overdue with this chapter....

**Author's Note:**

> WOW, i had no idea that GTAv was This popular....  
> well, this is embarrassing, but i had so much unfinished work back from last year of September, but i thought that readers would think it would be too graphic or disgusting (got traumatized by a Gore site catering to outlandish smut/snuff fiction...eeeeh), yet i guess it's now okay to upload for the mature readers on this site  
> (^~^) Yay~!


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